


Meeting Machiavelli

by Niccolò Machiavelli (Piccolo_Machiavelli)



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Machiavelli - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_Machiavelli/pseuds/Niccol%C3%B2%20Machiavelli
Summary: Laila, a young Italian girl, is interested in being mentored by Niccolò Machiavelli, Florence's best Chancellor.





	

I saw the candle flickering back and forth on his desk, the flame whipping about as it was blown by the wind. His window was open ever-so-slightly, the curtains bordering it lifting up as if to fly away. I could see him bent over his studies, writing rapidly for a few moments, and then stopping to look up, thinking momentarily. He placed his quill down on the desk and turned around to gaze out the window. Whatever was out there seemed to captivate him, as he stared out into the darkness almost longingly. I observed him push his chair out from underneath his desk, slowly standing up, and staring out again. His writings, which he always travelled with wherever he went (as they said), sat idle on his desk. I had a meeting with the Chancellor that night, and I knew he had been expecting to see me. 

I rapped on his door and fidgeted as I waited for him to answer. A friend had told me he was a very busy man and didn’t like to be kept waiting. I didn’t, either. It still made me nervous to see him for the first time.  
He opened it and stood before me. The first thing I noticed was the aura he gave off. It struck me as dark and powerful, but surprisingly welcoming. I let out a sigh of relief. His appearance was not made apparent to me in the black of the night. I could see little else but the candle in the wind and the top of his desk.

“Ah, you’re finally here,” he spoke in a gentle voice, stepping away from the door to let me in. I hesitantly entered his study, wondering why he had been looking for me.

“Good evening, Messere, I was just -” I stuttered nervously, looking down at the floor when he addressed me.

“No need,” he interrupted me, raising a hand to cut me off, “just call me Machiavelli, or Niccolò, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Machiavelli?” I repeated, dumbly stumbling over the pronunciation. He was someone of high honour and I did not want to grace him with my stupidity.

“Yes,” he softly replied, “why?” He clasped two pale hands in front of him. That much was apparent in the dim light.

“Well, seeing as how you are only Chancellor of the Florentine Republic, don’t you think I ought to address you a bit more formally? Messer Machiavelli?” I questioned, forcing myself into a small curtsy. Machiavelli scoffed as if to dismiss my gesture, but I could tell he enjoyed very much the flattery. He tried to hide it by appearing unfazed, but he could not. 

“Don’t flatter me,” he stated sharply, but with a voice light and a tone kind. “You don’t need to. It doesn’t go far with me. Flatterers are simply lusting after the affections of their masters. They are too expectant.”  
“Pardon me,” I muttered as I sat down on a chair near his desk. “I’ve come here to-”

“I know why you’re here. I’m the one that has been expecting you, remember?” he cut me off, walking over to his desk and taking a seat behind it. He faced me, and I could finally lay my eyes upon the powerful Chancellor for the first time. He struck me as shrewd and intelligent, still in the prime of his life, but wise beyond his years. His skin had a pale pallor and he almost seemed to glow in the candlelight. One thing I couldn't help but focus on was his nose - rude as it was, it appeared to me the epitome feature of a man most arrogant. Deep in his eyes was something strange - something mysterious and brooding, but benevolent still. He was a man of many secrets. “You’re here to discuss with me your vie for power. You want it, but how will you go about gaining it?”

“I... I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I came to seek your advice,” I admitted sheepishly. He was judging me. That much I could tell. Power wasn't a game with him and he was careful to watch my every move.

“You have a lot of work ahead of you. You aren’t fit to run any kind of principality with your naïveté,” he criticised, picking up his pen and tapping it thrice on his parchment. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. What did you say your name was, Laila?” 

I was taken aback. “How’d you know my name? Did the prince tell you?”

A smile spread across his lips. “Don’t trouble yourself with that. I can teach you whatever you wish to know. Manipulation, cunning, treachery. You’ll gain your power in due time,” he said mysteriously. “So, what will you do?”


End file.
